"Whirring, whirring!"
The incoming wind stirred the blazing flames, and the square skull beneath the fire was exposed. It was powerful, thick, and ferocious, perfectly reflecting Frank the Punisher's character. Fierce and intimidating, yet somehow giving people a sense of safety.
"Frank?" Bobby called softly.
The strong man suddenly turned his head, the collision of his upper and lower jawbones making a heavy sound. He lowered his head and looked at his bone claws. He could not feel his own heat, but the flames covering him would not lie. Frank touched his whole body. The thin layer of his T-shirt seemed glued to him, as if refusing to expose the fact that only the skeleton of his strong body remained.
Bobby slowly stretched out his hand, palm facing upward. The water vapor in the air and the falling snowflakes slowly gathered in his palm. Under the influence of the cold air, they turned into a crystal-clear, hard, prickly ice mirror, hovering slightly above Iceman's hand.
Frank's reflection appeared on it—an evil spirit crawling out of hell. He looked very similar to the dead Robbie, but Robbie Reyes's body was lying at his feet, cold and without warmth. No one knew whether he had gone to hell to fight Mephisto.
Robbie was dead, which meant the figure in the ice mirror was Frank.
Frank suddenly came to his senses and shattered the ice mirror in front of him. Scott was so startled that he immediately fired an optic blast.
Renzo did not move. He did not sense any malice or intent to attack from Frank. Frank was like a shark wandering through the surrounding sea, merely circling a yacht out of curiosity, only to be mistaken as a warning of danger.
Only the smell of blood attracted sharks.
The only things that attracted Frank were punishment and guilt.
To Frank's empty eyes, the sins on every person before him were clearly visible. The names of people, or the lives of other creatures they carried, were like brands that remained on their bodies forever from the moment they killed.
Like a cat smelling catnip.
Frank was also drawn by the heavy sins gathered around them. He could not help raising his hand, and hellfire poured out. Only when he reacted did he realize he had done something wrong.
A golden flash interrupted the spread of hellfire, as if catching water floating in the air and pouring it back into its original container.
Renzo had indeed done exactly that. He stretched out his palms and grabbed the flames like a rope. The scorching heat did not harm his body, but the burning pain against his soul made even him uncomfortable. He immediately gathered the flames into a ball and stuffed them into Frank's mouth.
"Listen, Frank! I'll give you ten minutes to adapt to your new body. In ten minutes, we set off again, intercept the Inhuman submarines, and escort them safely to Mississippi. Nick Fury is there. S.H.I.E.L.D. built a last-resort shelter where displaced women and children can go."
Frank controlled the hellfire so it would not overflow, though scorch marks still remained in the fine seams and joints of his bones.
"We need a lot of power to protect the civilians from being attacked again. Wanda has gone mad. You cannot go mad too. You escaped New York when it was filled with red mist, and you survived under the Hell Knight. That is something to be proud of."
Renzo desperately needed manpower. The annihilation of the X-Men and the Inhumans had plunged this already struggling society into an even worse situation. Both he and Nick Fury had reached the point where almost no one was available. The Fantastic Four had become two. The underwater prison was damaged. Captain Carter was captured. Hill was infected... All of this proved that S.H.I.E.L.D.'s secrets and the superheroes' information would be completely exposed to Wanda.
That was too fatal.
They could only look for Nick Fury. The spy chief might still have secrets hidden even from Hill, and he might know things no one else in the world knew.
And Kamar-Taj. Magic was the only way to stop Wanda, and the most effective method besides the Infinity Stones.
The Book of Vishanti.
Renzo had done everything he could to obtain the book, but the one who could use it was dead. Could Mordo and Wong really bear the power of the book?
Ten minutes passed, and Frank panted as he returned to his original appearance. The cost of transforming into Ghost Rider was too great. Each generation was destined, an heir chosen by Mephisto and the previous Rider.
If an ordinary person inherited this power, he would be swallowed by the flames of vengeance and wiped out.
Only those who had experienced unforgettable pain could accept the power of Ghost Rider. Johnny Blaze, Robbie Reyes, Frank Castle... they had all lost their loved ones.
"Go to Mississippi!" Renzo said in a noncommittal tone, levitating onto the fighter plane. Scott and the others followed behind him without even looking at Frank.
Time was too tight. No one ever knew which would come first—an accident or tomorrow.
Wanda's hero-hunting plan was still continuing, along with her plan to collect the Infinity Stones, and it made Renzo feel impatient.
This Wanda was terrifying... Compared to the Scarlet Witch in Doctor Strange 2, her sheer power could frighten enemies, but as long as she was alone, there was always an opportunity to exploit.
But once a person with overwhelming power and ruthless strategy became an enemy, it was a disaster. Napoleon had once conquered Europe and become an unprecedented emperor, respected and criticized by countless people. Qin Shi Huang's majestic strategy had swept across the world, leaving him cold and ruthless as the first emperor of all ages, while others affectionately called him a tyrant. The greedy empire on which the sun never set had wrapped itself in the sheepskin of friendship while slaughtering the original inhabitants of distant lands...
Strength was key, but strength was not everything.
Simple power alone could not make an enemy feel complete fear. History books never said that enemies would be terrified just because they saw a brave but reckless general.
An outstanding warrior could become a commander.
Renzo claimed to understand Wanda's temperament better than anyone else. She was a depressed girl who always hid her sadness deep inside. She was not very old, but she had endured unimaginable pain. Those nightmares oppressed her nerves constantly, like sharp daggers. Every time she lost someone, another blade stabbed into her heart, until the heart carrying so much pain was completely torn apart and thrown into a bottomless abyss.
When she was young, she lost her parents. In her youth, she lost her brother. When she matured, she lost the person she loved.
She was so miserable that Renzo had to hold her to sleep every night, making sure her dreams were not corroded by darkness.
Wanda always liked to read before bed—fantasy stories and Twenty Thousand Leagues Under the Sea. She admired Hemingway and thought he must have possessed something extraordinary to stand out from countless sufferings.
Renzo could not bear to tell this uneducated girl that the courageous man had ultimately died by suicide.
Frank got onto the savior's fighter plane and said, "You didn't succeed."
"Mm..." Renzo could not deny it. He had failed, and Wanda had won.
"Where's my bullet? You didn't kill her with it?" Frank sat in the seat beside Renzo and took off his eyepatch. He had lost one eye in the red mist, but it had now been repaired by hellfire.
His new eyes allowed him to see many things he had never seen before, such as the sins above their heads. They were like dark clouds hanging over everyone, as if thunder might strike at any time.
Frank also looked above his own head. Compared with the X-Men, the sins over his head were deeper and more horrifying.
Over the years, he had wandered around Hell's Kitchen and the territories of gangs. Those disgusting tattooed men with ugly smiles acted wildly, gathered together, sold the children taken from downstairs for money, insulted women, fired their guns...
Frank had always believed he was a messenger of justice, born to punish those people who deserved death. They were unworthy of being human and should be imprisoned in hell forever, chained like guard dogs.
He had killed many gangsters and had seen how cruel, insidious, and greedy they were.
Whenever he pointed the barrel of his gun at those so-called gangsters, they would always kneel on the ground, humbly and cunningly begging Frank for forgiveness, swearing to God they would change.
Frank did not believe it. A pure black thing could not become any other color no matter what color was added to it. It could only remain black, forever black.
The world was like a large dye vat. Everyone was born with a different color. Passionate people were always red. Melancholy artists were blue. There were also hardworking fathers and husbands, carrying simple yellow on their bodies as they held to the lowest bottom line in their hearts and wandered through the gray area of illegality...
Most newborn children were white, as pure and innocent as blank paper. Their parents printed different colors onto them, but in the end, they all moved toward black, the color representing death.
Frank had never considered himself a good person. If divided by color, he would be light black or gray-black, mixed with the red of justice, thick as blood and carrying a disgusting smell, as if covered in all the filth of the world, fouler and more repulsive than any liquid in existence.
But what about this man?
Frank glanced at Renzo. He could not clearly see the man's appearance. Renzo seemed tightly wrapped in layer after layer. His hidden soul was blurred, swaying, never stable.
He also saw gods.
The blessing of Asgard, the defensive spells of white magic, the power of the Infinity Stones, the voice of the big-headed god, the curse of chaos, the entanglement of darkness and death...
He was so complicated. As complex as the sea, endless at a glance, yet all-encompassing.
These divine powers seemed to float within his soul like honest turtles, helpful dolphins, ferocious sharks, or massive killer whales.
Frank was shocked. How could one person have encountered so many gods and formed both good and bad ties with them?
Renzo did not answer where the bullet had gone, because he could not answer it. Could he tell Frank the truth—that he had given the bullet to Hill, only for Hill to be captured in the blink of an eye? Right under his own nose? That was far too embarrassing.
From now on, he would not dare say his name when he went out, for fear of being recognized. Oh, that man carrying three Infinity Stones who could not even watch over an ordinary person. Saying it aloud would make people laugh.
Frank seemed to understand something. Seeing Renzo remain silent, he took the initiative to change the topic. "The witch sent Robbie to New Jersey, the place where Captain Carter grew up. We fought him, and the result..." Frank did not continue, because everyone already knew the result.
"You?"
"Yes. Carter's little followers were there too, the ones who trail behind her all day long like attendants. They're all heroes with their own titles. What's the point of following someone else so unsteadily?" Frank sneered disdainfully, but Renzo did not know whether it was his imagination or not; he could vaguely hear a trace of envy.
Everyone was an independent individual. Everyone was the protagonist of their own life, never another person's accessory.
Frank's originally thick arms had shrunk. Perhaps because of the power of the evil spirit, the excess fat and muscle on this strong man's body had evaporated, making him more suitable for fighting and more suited to Ghost Rider's combat style.
Frank really wanted to experience the feeling of riding a motorcycle and swinging the chain. That feeling was no different from those racing bikers at night. Beneath the dark sky and scattered lights, clusters of flies gathered beneath white streetlamps. Screaming high school students wore strange clothes, earrings, and all kinds of hairstyles. They rode arrogantly down straight roads, shouting crude words and breaking the silence of night.
No matter how old a man became, there was always a wild boy in his heart, a boy who wanted to ride a motorcycle and race recklessly down a deserted road under the eyes of the police, dress up in a rebellious style, put on a handsome biker suit, and raise his middle finger at bald old men in passing cars before speeding away.
Renzo liked that too. Who did not want to be a bad boy? A bad kid running wild through the dark night?
Perhaps once, in pouring rain, you stood with a group of foolish boys, looking at your soaked clothes and laughing at each other's hair, limp and dripping from the rain. The hair mousse bought that morning was divided among several people in an instant, leaving only the boy with the crew cut still standing strong.
Who had not experienced a little madness?
Who had not fantasized about a reckless adventure?
Frank was silent...
Renzo stared blankly ahead. The fighter plane had already risen to four thousand meters above the ground. It was not especially high, but it was enough to fly over the mountain peaks. They were white and dark...
"You should all sleep for a while. I'll call you when we arrive."
Renzo did not need sleep. His brain remained extremely clear at all times, and he did not need to relax his nerves. The Mind Stone was as gentle as a mother's whisper, letting him rest lightly in a familiar, warm embrace while nourishing every element of his body.
These X-Men were too tired. They had rushed along without stopping and experienced two more crushing battles—one where they were crushed, and one where they crushed the enemy. They were exhausted both physically and mentally, swaying as if they might collapse to the ground at any moment.
Renzo did not think he was a hateful capitalist. There was no need to exploit his subordinates like this.
"Thank you," Bobby said softly. He truly was tired. Rogue had already fallen asleep on his shoulder. Her brows were slightly furrowed, as if she had dreamed of something bad. The tips of her white hair hung over Bobby's shoulder, and with only a slight movement, he could easily brush against his girlfriend's hair.
The two slept together.
Renzo turned his gaze back and chuckled.
Maybe... he had once been like this too.
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